


Forever

by eek4444



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eek4444/pseuds/eek4444
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds Castiel asleep in the MoL libary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever

It was cold in the bunker. The concrete walls seembed to breathe ice, ice that took them in its brittle grasp and refused to let go. Frost had crept in under the doors, swirling its way across the tiled floors, so that when they woke up of a morning their feet crunched on the whiteness and their breath hung before them in the air.

Sam stayed mostly in the kitchen, surrounded by industrial kitchen equipment, typing away on his laptop, where he could work and it was warmer. They hadn't had many cases since the cold set in, just some vampires a couple of states over and a quick trip to New York for a pesky ghost. Dean hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about either of these trips. He seemed reluctant to leave Castiel at the bunker alone. Altogether, Sam reflected, Castiel was coping pretty well with being human. The cold was affecting him badly, but he still enjoyed eating (he could get through thirty or so burgers in a day with no ill effects, even as a human) and he enjoyed the multitude of books the Men of Letters libary offered. Still, you never could tell with Cas.

Dean found the cold bothered him less when he could work at something, keeping his mind occupied. This led him to spend his time at local bars when the inttermitent wind, rain and snow allowed, and doing research when the snow was too deep or the wind rose above gale force. He hadn't gone to the bars for strippers or to get smashed though. He hadn't done that in a while. Something seemed to be stopping him, something inside him that he didn't understand. Maybe it was the same something that drew him to the libary, to sit at the table with Cas and explain being human, help him to understand this new existence that he had been thrust into.

Castiel loved to talk to him.

It was this same feeling that drew him to the libary on a day when the wind was howling high above the bunker and the air seemed to be cracking under the pressure of the storm. It was bitterly cold, with a vengeful grip to the air. Dean shivered and wrapped his jacket closer around him as he hurried through the long bunker corridors. In his hand he held a beer for himself and a coffee for Cas, who had been working all night as far as Dean knew. He had been pouring over the same book for nearly two days now. It was in Enochian, and Castiel seemed to think it held information they needed. Dean knew Cas needed to get his wings back, but at the same time the ex-angel's presence at the bunker comforted him, and he knew that once Cas became an angel again he wouldn't be there as much.

It was strange and quiet in amongst the towering shelves of books.

"Cas?" Dean said into the silence.

There was no sound for a moment, and then a strange snuffling noise. Dean rounded a corner and found Castiel curled on the floor, his muscular frame seeming strangely small as he slept next to a pile of heavy, leather bound books. He was still wearing his trenchcoat. His face seemed so tired, so old, with an unexplainable age, as if his face held the stories of centuries, and his life had spun millennia. Which, Dean thought, it had. As an angel Cas was majestic and timeless, but as a human he was tired, beautiful even and Dean felt a tug in his heart that was alien to him. He watched Cas sleep; his chest rose and fell as peacefully as waves on a beach, and his timeless face was open and honest, as if inviting Dean to read its tales.

He didn't know why he felt the need to sit down beside Cas on the polished wood boards, much less why he abandoned the coffee and beer and moved Cas' head into his lap, but he only knew that there was something good, something so inherently right about what he was doing. It felt right, like it felt when he and Sam sped down the highway to a new case, it felt like the rush of adrenaline when he drove the impala down long straight roads at 100 miles an hour, like the first bite of an apple pie early in the morning when the dew is still on the grass, like the feeling of going to sleep after a long day. It felt like all these things, just the feeling of Cas' breath ghosting across his hand which was against Cas' cheek, just the heavy weight of his head on Deans stomach.

Cas' hair was as soft as he had always imagined it, and he ran his fingers through it much more gently than he'd ever done anything in his life before. Trying not to wake him, Dean shifted so that he was resting against a shelf and Cas' head was on his chest. Cas mumbled something in his sleep and curled closer to Dean, his hand clutching somewhat helplessly at Deans shirt. The muscular pull of his frame under the trenchcoat was something Dean thought he could get used to. There was something comforting about it, something that implied what he was capable of. Dean ran his fingers through Cas' hair again and again to savour the feeling. He placed a rough hand against his cheek, trying to memorise with his fingers the delicate, strong tendons where his neck met his skull. His skin was smooth.

He traced Castiel's lips with a thumb, and stroked his back with his other hand, the only sound their breathing and the rasp of his hand on the coat. Dean could stay there forever in that moment, whatever the consequences, but forever is a long time. Forever never comes.


End file.
